


The Jedi Way

by palejewel



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-15 18:37:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13619298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palejewel/pseuds/palejewel
Summary: Kylo thinks Rey has a lot to learn about the Jedi way... and he's prepared to teach her.





	1. Preface

After those first few tension-fraught Force-visits, he started popping in at the strangest times. Once while she was putting up her hair in the morning, just before dawn. Once while she was relocating the porgs that had nested just inside the opening of one of the Falcon’s Arakyd concussion missile tubes. Even once, embarrassingly, while she was practicing flipping her lightsaber hilt coolly in one hand.

It didn’t seem convenient for him, either. He often looked as though he’d been interrupted in the middle of deep private thought, and once their inexplicable connection had sprung into life mid-meal, his mouth stuffed with reconstituted polystarch from a standard issue First Order ration pack. 

As the days passed, it became more and more difficult to summon rage every time they were linked. Their fierce exchanges eventually subsided in favor of tense, mostly silent observation, and then, unexpectedly, into a sort of bizarre camaraderie. When Rey was training and Kylo watched from his seat on his own ship, a tangle of too-long limbs, it grew steadily easier to forget he was Kylo and instead see him as simply a person who was often nearby, an incidental witness to her life, just as she was witness to his.

Over time, they began to talk — at first, simple exchanged words, observations more than conversation. “Is it night where you are?” Kylo would ask, the liquid bass of his voice surprising her in the darkness. Once, Rey spotted a streak of blood on a scabbed, ungloved knuckle; “You’re bleeding,” came out of her mouth unbidden. Maybe it was because neither of them had anyone else to talk to, or maybe it was simply that those empty words activated something in them, but once the silence was broken, the words began to tumble out of them in awkward, questing spurts. Each of them searched for signs of either empathy or judgment in the other’s face as they spoke, their fear of being vulnerable not quite strong enough to conquer their need for a listening ear.

The only consistency in their connection seemed to be in their privacy — they were only ever linked when each of them was alone. For Rey, living on an island with a grieving Wookiee, an ill-tempered old jedi, and a collection of robed Caretakers who moved purposefully in the opposite direction whenever they spotted her, this was often. It seemed that was true for Kylo, too, because when he appeared to her, he usually looked to be brooding in his private quarters, pacing like a caged animal.

Rey was only beginning to learn what troubled him, but when they were bonded, his frustration and feelings of helplessness felt familiar alongside her own. Her hopes of being guided down the path of the light by a true jedi had been dashed, first when Luke pitched the saber over the cliffs, and then over and over again with each passing day. She had come for answers, and Luke claimed to have none, yet still did his best to stop her from seeking out her own. She channeled her energy into training, slowly learning to translate her years of skill with a staff into this new weapon, but at the end of each day, she couldn’t shake the feeling of being trapped. The constant, alien cacophony of the waves crashing against the rocky coast seemed to grow louder the more she tried to tune it out.

It was on one of these nights that the Force chose to connect her with Kylo.


	2. Teacher

She lay awake, questioning, for the millionth time, why she had come. He was sitting on something, presumably his own bed, but to her view he was seated on the edge of her pallet, a few inches from the bend of her knees beneath the blanket. A few weeks ago, she might have leapt up, defensive. But she was exhausted and he made no move of his own, so she lay still.

Through the Force bond between them she could sense his tension, a buzzing, irregular whine that she heard not in her ears, but in her limbs. He was always accompanied by this uncomfortable hum, but tonight seemed worse somehow — or maybe it was simply that he was closer. She looked up to find him with his eyes fixed on her, and she could see in his expression that he could sense the tension in her, too.

“You feel abandoned,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

Perhaps that was what she felt after all. She had looked to Luke as a teacher, and he had refused to fill the role.

“It shouldn’t surprise me anymore,” she said. She could taste it, the rising, acidic wave of self-loathing that had been her daily fare for her years on Jakku — why did no one want her? What had she done wrong? She tried to swallow it back, but despite everything that had happened, deep inside she was still that little girl watching the exhaust trails of the ship carrying away the only people who were supposed to stand by you no matter what.

“It’s not you,” Kylo said urgently. “It’s him.” His gloved hand came up to rest on her arm, to reassure her, and she felt his tension leap through her skin like an electric shock. Was this how he felt all the time? The strained intensity she sensed from him made her want to run, want to scream, want to break something.

He saw her flinch at his touch and withdrew immediately, his eyes locked on hers.

“How do you breathe?” she asked finally. “With all that inside you?”

“I don’t know.”

Slowly, without taking her eyes from him, she sat up. She reached for his hand and spread her palm flat against it, aligning her fingers with his one by one. The leather that separated them was warm from his body heat and felt almost like skin, but not quite. She felt his agitation against her palm like a physical force, their spiritual and corporeal contact merging into one strange, crackling frisson.

He folded his fingers to lace with hers, and she shivered convulsively, their shared emotion tracing a prickling path down her spine.

“You’re not alone, you know,” Kylo said.

She hadn’t realized just how much she needed to hear those words, how they would impact her like being hit squarely in the chest, taking the breath out of her lungs and leaving her momentarily stunned. She had always been alone.

“Neither are you,” she whispered.

Rey didn’t realize she was crying until Kylo brought his free hand up to cup her face, his fingers snaking into her hair and one thumb brushing aside a tear with a tenderness that struck a sharp contrast to the pulsing anxiety that she knew lived just beneath his skin. Had he ever had someone to confide in, an outlet for the anger and fear that had coiled deep inside him, taking root? Had she?

She felt herself moving towards him as if pulled by gravity. He stiffened at first when her lips met his, surprised, she sensed, but also afraid — afraid to give in, afraid to peel back one of the layers he’d built to protect himself. But in the space of a breath, he had made his decision. Her eyes closed almost involuntarily as he deepened the kiss, one hand trailing heat and goosebumps down the line of her neck, the other wrapping around her waist, pulling her bodily towards him. The strange current that had been so uncomfortable between them before was now an electric thrill, a soft hum that reverberated through their bodies as Rey pressed herself closer to him, knotted her hands in his long, unkempt hair.

The tenderness he had shown before was gone, replaced by an urgency that made her heart race. He tipped her backwards, a controlled fall, bearing her down onto her pallet. She tried to imagine what he saw — her, hair unbound, cheeks flushed, splayed across the bed in his private quarters, eyes dark with desire. His broad hands, still gloved, explored her body: The muscled curve of her hip and thigh, the plane of her belly, his fingers counting up the ladder of her ribs, one, two, three. He paused there, the rough linen of her shirt bunched below her breasts, and looked to her for permission.

In answer she reached for the hem, arched her back, and pulled the tunic off in one fluid motion. For a moment she was nervous, exposed, the hard peaks of her nipples making her desire obvious. But the hungry look in his eyes as he took her in reassured her, and when he laid a hot line of kisses from the jumping pulse in her neck to one swollen breast, she felt a rush of heat between her legs. She tugged at his clothes ineffectually — where did the cloak end, the tunic begin? — suddenly desperate to feel his skin on her own. In response he tugged at her nipple lightly, teasingly with his teeth, making her yelp in surprise.

“You haven’t been learning much of the jedi way, have you?” Kylo said in a low, laughing voice. “You need to work on the third pillar: Self discipline.” He sat up, unwrapping the thick cloak and the broad leather belt and discarding them. As he tugged open the front of his tunic, exposing a stripe of pale, sweat-slick skin, Rey reached for him and he caught her by the wrists, a sly smile twisting one corner of his mouth.

“The jedi teach denial of self,” he said. He shifted on the bed, parting her thighs deftly with one knee, and she pressed herself against him, impatient. All she could think of was those long-fingered hands, that full mouth tasting her skin. He brought his knee up, pressing against her, and a moan escaped her lips before she could contain it. She writhed against him, desperate for his touch, but he withdrew from her, a self-satisfied smirk dawning on his face in the dim light. He pinned her wrists to the bed on either side of her head, bringing his lips down to ghost across her stomach, her ribs, and for one brief, aching moment, her stiff, swollen nipples, making her whimper. He kissed her neck, then nipped at it with his teeth. She could feel his lips move against her ear as he spoke: “You need a teacher,” he breathed.

She could’ve freed herself, of course — she was strong, easily as strong as Kylo after years of scavenging and training with the staff. But something in his eyes, something in the energy that hummed through his skin and into hers, made her curious. So she left her wrists in his hands and focused on the throbbing heat between her legs, and the growing belief that he meant to resolve it.

“Okay,” she said finally, meeting his gaze steadily. “Teach me.”


	3. Denial

His lips twitched into a crooked smile at her response. “Good,” he said approvingly. His eyes raked across her body. With her wrists still caught in his hands, she felt exposed and vulnerable. She shivered, and his smile broadened.

“I know what you want me to do,” he said. He released her wrists, trailing his broad hands down over her breasts and down her stomach to grip her thighs, so achingly close to where she needed him. He rubbed one thumb in deliberate circles, closer and closer, until she lifted her hips towards his hand and he withdrew, chuckling.

“You want me to touch you,” he said, trailing a finger from her belly button, down over the waistband and along the seam, stopping just short. She let out a sharp huff of air, swallowing hard. If she hadn’t already made her pants visibly damp, they would be soon.

“Yes,” she said.

“You want me to take off your clothes and expose you, leave you naked and helpless, so I can do what I like with you,” he said. He hooked one finger into her waistband, tugging it down just far enough that he could dust a row of kisses onto the sharp ridge of her jutting hip bone.

The thought of herself, completely defenseless, at the mercy of a fully-clothed Kylo’s leather-gloved, long-fingered hands was somehow intoxicating to Rey. Her heart was pounding, and she could hear her blood rushing in her ears.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“You want my hands and my mouth to light a fire under your skin and make you wild and desperate,” he said. “You want me to tease you until you can’t stand it, until you feel like your body is going to break into pieces.” He tucked his hands beneath her, lowering his head and tilting her hips towards him. She could feel the heat of his breath through the fabric as he breathed, “And then you want me to make you come.”

This time, the word came out hoarse and throaty: “Yes.”

He withdrew suddenly, sitting back. “I’m not going to do that,” he said. He watched the outrage dawn on her face, and before she could find words, he added “...yet. We’ll see how well you do.”

Rey’s cheeks flushed. She was ready to play along, and it wasn’t as if this wasn’t getting her worked up… but her pride could only allow so much.

“And what do you want me to do?” she asked. She meant it to be sarcastic, warning, but she was becoming desperate for his touch, and some of that desperation leaked into her tone. She could tell by the glint in his eyes that he heard it.

“Get undressed,” he said. It was an order, said the same way she would imagine he spoke to the countless underlings that scurried around the First Order ships in strict black uniforms. Under any other circumstance she would’ve whacked him upside the head with her staff for that tone, but now it unexpectedly sent a pleasant shiver down her spine.

She sat up her elbows and shimmied out of her pants. Her underthings were wet through, something Kylo’s eyes immediately caught. He smirked. “Those too,” he said. She slid them off and discarded them. She was very aware of how bare she was and how clothed he remained — she saw now that it was a power play, and an effective one. She felt pinned down by his gaze, like a butterfly in a museum.

“Now,” Kylo said, leaning over her, one finger idly tracing circles around one of her breasts, “tell me what you want me to do to you.”

She automatically lifted her hips towards him, questing. “Touch me,” she said urgently. “There.”

“Where?” Kylo asked teasingly. “You’ll have to be clearer.”

In answer, she took his hand in hers and brought it down between her legs. Even just the brush of his fingers against her clit sent a wave of feeling through her body. It was swollen and desperate for attention after all of the buildup, and she knew it wouldn’t take much to push her over the edge. She pressed against his hand, letting out a shuddering breath. After a moment, he pulled back and she let out on involuntary cry.

“Come on!” she cried, reaching for his hand again, but he pulled it from her grasp.

“Say please,” he said. His crooked smile was smug, and infuriatingly sexy.

All her pride had gone. She repeated the word obediently, quickly. “Please,” she said.

“Good girl,” he said. Then his hands were back, one finger sliding easily into her while his thumb moved in gentle, coaxing circles. Her eyes fluttered shut and her back arched automatically, her body operating independent of conscious thought. She felt the pleasure building in her like a storm, as though her body was filled with clouds, heavy with rain and sparking with electricity. The feeling of his leather gloves, slick with her wetness, was foreign, but his movements were familiar, expert, as though he could sense and predict everything she was feeling.

“Oh my god,” she breathed, her hands knotting in the blankets. “Oh my god.” She could sense it, her climax, just out of her reach. She drew in a long, shuddering breath. “I’m–”

But before she could, he pulled away, quick to catch her hands as she made one last desperate attempt to catch at the opportunity before it was gone. She let out a cry, a combination groan of frustration and whine of loss.

She cried out wordlessly, wrenching her hands from his grasp and shoving his broad chest.

“Maybe we should finish this tomorrow night,” he said lightly, examining the gleam of his wet glove in the low light. “It’s getting late.”


End file.
